Race Traitor: BWWM Romance Novel for Adults

by Jamila Jasper

  “Let me go,” she gritted.

  “You fuckin’ country bumpkin,” the producer hissed. The rims of his eyes were red and rheumy. He’d taken something- some drug. And he’d been tipsy when they arrived. “Don’t embarrass me.”

  Then he turned to his friends. “Only one of you. I don’t like wearin’ out my girls.”

  “Me,” said the white man. He reached into his pocket and began to count out money.

  “No!” Janie shouted. “I don’t want you. I ain’t for sale.”

  Mindoo shoved her towards the man. She stumbled; he caught her and pulled her close, backing her into his crotch. “See? I’ll be easy with ya.”

  Bile rose in her throat; she panicked, thrusting herself away from the man with all her strength. When he caught her she felt the nausea rising within her like a nasty wave, and it surged from her mouth all over his trousers and the front of her dress.

  “You bitch!”

  The man’s backhand sent her spinning. Janie didn’t stay around to fight. She tore out of Rita’s, leaving her purse and everything else behind her. The night rushed past her in a blur of lights, the clotted street corners, the guttural sounds of Cajun French. She stopped running only when she couldn’t breathe anymore, and then it was a struggle to take in air through the heavy, wrenching sobs that claimed her. Mindoo was gone. She’d been sick on one of his friends. She’d almost been raped. The loneliness clawed at her heart. She had no one to count on. And in this beautiful, rich, bustling city of night and light and music, Janie Ruth Ross saw only misery.

  Of course, Burke would pop into her head at a time like this. Janie sat on a curb that smelled like human piss and put her head in her hands. She’d left Burke to pursue this dream. She’d left the children of Rickshaw- people who needed her. All because she’d let a man like Emmett Freeman worm his way into her head with talk about racial purity and a Black Woman’s Duty. Janie had to admit that to herself- she’d been scared!

  Don’t sit here feeling sorry for yourself, she snapped. Get up. Wake up.

  Her bag was still at Rita’s- with all her money. She did not want to go back- what would Mindoo do to her? There was nothing for it but to walk somewhere and hope to spend the night.

  Instinctively Janie’s legs guided her to the hotel she and Burke had stayed at on their first trip to New Orleans. She walked all the way to Treme to find it.

  The hotel was called La Papillion, and it looked dark and closed inside. An old black woman, with her sugar-white hair tied up in a knot, sat comfortably on a rocking chair outside of it. The woman was not Madam Choc, who had set up Janie and Burke during their visit. She was someone else entirely- someone she had seen before. Janie felt a thrill of electricity run through her body.

  “Well, look who it is,” said the woman. One eye was brown, the other a milky white. She smiled a familiar smile.

  “You’re the woman from the train?” said Janie.

  “Ah, so you recognize me?” the woman smiled.

  Janie wondered wildly if the woman had followed her here. She dismissed the idea for a foolish one.

  “You- um- you stay here a lot?”

  “Sometimes,” said the woman. “Say, sugar, why you so blue? You look like you seen your own ghost.”

  Janie flushed self-consciously. “I ran into some trouble, Ma’am. Ain’t got a penny to spare but I was hopin’ Madam Choc would let me use a room for a night. I’ll make my way from there.”

  “You runnin’ away huh?”

  “I- yes,” admitted Janie. “I guess I am.”

  The woman surveyed her thoughtfully. “You look fed up with it, too.”

  “I just need to sleep,” said Janie. She sounded like she might cry.

  “Come here, sugar. Don’t worry about that. I know how it is.”

  “The Madame-”

  “Who you think she works for? You can stay here, alright? Just sit down and tell me about it.”

  Janie sat down and told her.

  “Huh,” said the woman. “I got an idea.”

  She plucked a hair from Janie’s head. Janie yelped in surprise. The woman held it up to the lamplight and examined it as if she were examining a fossil under a microscope.

  “You kin tell a lot about black folks from their hair. It’s about the best way, in my belief, better than palm-readin’ and scryin’ or anythin’ like that. Your hair tells me you had a rough childhood. You got beat a lot- you wanted love from your Mama and she never gave it- is that right?”

  Janie nodded. “That’s true for a lot of folks, though.”

  “Ah,” said the old woman. “You right about that. But see here- “ she traced a pattern in the coil- “I see you got the makin’s of greatness but you’re all mixed up inside. You went to school, you did everythin’ a respectable girl should. But you don’t like teachin’. You don’t like school. These two knots say you wanted to be a singer but you right now findin’ out that it ain’t what it’s cracked up to be.”

  “That’s right,” said Janie, feeling a little ridiculous, and a little dumbfounded.

  The woman drew a box of matches from her pocket and set the hair alight. She watched the thin, weak smoke trail up. The hair shriveled and burned in her palm.

  “So what do you want to do, girlie? Tell this old woman what you want.”

  Janie stared out into the street darkness. “I want a family,” she said. “I want love. I want people to like me. I want to help people. I want my music and singin’ to touch people right here.” She thumped a hand over her breast.

  “Well, Miss Janie, you aint gotta stay in New Orleans to do that.”

  “How do you know my name?”

  The woman smacked her lips and laughed. “ ‘Cause I was just talkin’ to a white gentleman stayin’ here about you. Your bear-man.”

  Janie’s heart rose to her throat. Impossible. “What? Burke is here?”

  “Burke, yes. Sure is. He came this afternoon. Looking for you, I think. Now ain’t that funny?”

  Janie stood up. Suddenly she wanted to be away. She wasn’t ready to face him. Shame gripped her chest with fingers like hot pokers. The old woman, for her part, looked endlessly amused.

  “Is he here now?” Janie asked faintly.

  “He’ll be back,” said the woman. “He went out to get food. I can show you his room.”

  She led Janie up the stairs, half against Janie’s will.

  “Who are you?” Janie said, as the woman turned to leave. “You seem so familiar. Not just from the train. I feel like I met you somewhere else, before.”

  “In another life, maybe,” said the woman. She nodded to Janie, her mismatched eyes sparkling. “My name’s Agnes Dump. But most everyone calls me Fleur. Flower. I think that’s prettier, don’t you?”

  “I- I suppose,” said Janie.

  “I get around, that’s all. Maybe you seen me somewhere else in New Orleans. I’m hard to miss. Now, Miss Janie. You didn’t ask Burke that question I told you to, did you?”

  “Naw,” said Janie. Then, boldly, “I guess I forgot. And I guess you can just tell me the answer.”

  “Guess again,” said Agnes Dump. Fleur. “Ask him yourself.” She jutted her chin past Janie’s shoulder. Janie spun.

  He stood there, the soft light of the streetlamps throwing his face into great shadow. She had forgotten how big he was. The muscles of his body looked even more pronounced. She remembered the first time she’d seen him naked in the springs of Rickshaw, how lean and wiry he had looked. With distant surprise she realized he’d filled out in the months that she’d known him. He was now about ten pounds heavier- all of it muscle. He might have been carved from marble, so still he stood. His black hair hung around his shoulders in a curly cloud. A wild man, come to the city to find her.

  He took her in with those hooded gray eyes. He betrayed no emotion, though she felt like she would crack and shatter in a million pieces in the street.

  “Janie,” was all he said, and it sounded like an accusation, a
curse, and a love-word all at once.

  She took a step towards him, then another, until she was hurtling towards him and falling into his arms. She hugged him and buried her face in his chest.

  Burke’s arms rose to pull her closer. He was all around her at once: his smell, his strength, everything. And Janie realized that here they needed no words at all.

  *

  “I’ve been a fool,” said Janie.

  Burke pulled her down to the bed. “Yes, you have been. A beautiful fool.”

  “I shouldn’t have come back to New Orleans.”

  “I didn’t say that. What do you mean? What happened?”

  She shrugged and shuddered. “It ain’t easy here for a woman alone.”

  Burke tugged on her hair, acknowledging the fact. They lay nestled together, his big body cradling hers. He thought, privately, that Janie had lost some weight. Had the time away been as hard for her as it had been for him?

  “I sure thought you’d never come back,” he admitted. “I hoped it would have gone better for you. I thought maybe I was right to let you go.”

  “It did, for a while,” Janie said. “I made a little money, then Mindoo started keeping the rest.”

  “You went back to that man?” said Burke.

  “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

  Burke shrugged. A small silence stretched between them. What had happened in Rickshaw lay unopened. A ticking bomb. They had to bring it up eventually. But neither wanted to be the first to do so. Right now they just enjoyed the pleasure of the other’s embrace and warmth. Burke smelled like old leather and sage. Janie couldn’t believe how amazing it felt to hold him again in her arms. To feel his kiss against her throat. To simply touch him, and listen to the sigh of his breathing.

  “I’m gonna marry you, Janie,” Burke said finally.

  A thrill shot up her entire body. Struck dumb for a moment, she glanced up sharply to see if he was joking. But she knew better.

  “Is that,” she began softly, “A proposal, or a statement?”

  “A statement.” Burke cupped her face in his hands. His gray eyes were stormy. “You can’t say no. I won’t take no for an answer. I’ll follow you to perdition until I get a ‘yes’ from you, Janie Ross. You’re gonna be my woman.”

  “Mississippi law-”

  “Fuck the law. Say yes to me.”

  A few weeks ago she’d been ready to walk out on Burke to follow some pipe dream. She’d listened to all the talk in Rickshaw about them for months. The gossip. The slander. She’d followed the advice of Emmett Freeman, who she knew now to be the worst kind of hypocrite, at the cost of her own happiness. Janie looked at Burke. Really looked at him. He lay there, a man of honor, a man who could be a king. Proud and lovable, silent and strong. Lonely- like she was.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  Burke wrapped his hands around her wrists and dragged them up over her head. He planted steaming kisses on her throat, kneaded her pillowy lips with his own. His breath came hot and ragged against hers. The kiss deepened into something more.

  Janie bared her breasts; they came easily out of the skimpy club dress. Burke, his teeth insistent and demanding at her ear, cupped their generous weight. Janie had lost weight, but her breasts were fuller, the tips round and dark and thrusting boldly against his palms, begging to be suckled. Burke obliged. He brought them into his mouth with a slow groan, kissing each once, then twice. Then he lifted Janie to sit on his face. She ruched the dress up and did so, gasping in surprise at the new sensation.

  Burke dove into her pussy with his tongue. He swirled it around the hot bead of her clitoris, fucked her with the tip of it. His hands clenched her ass in place as she quivered and bucked atop him. The feeling of Janie’s full weight pressing down on him was unbelievably erotic. If I could die with her thighs crushing my face like this, and her ass being punished by my tongue, I’d die a happy man, thought Burke. Maybe Janie thought so too. She shifted so she could suck his dick while he tongue-fucked her.

  His length slid easily down her throat. Janie had realized long ago how much she loved sucking Burke’s cock. Despite the size, she managed it well. She liked when he held her head gently, as he did now, and slowly drove it again and again to the hot wet tunnel she offered to be fucked. The sensation of Burke licking her pussy was almost too much for her to concentrate on sucking his dick properly, but she loved the feeling, and would do it well.

  “Fuck,” grunted Burke. He came suddenly. There was a lot of it. Janie couldn’t swallow it all; some spilled from her mouth. Without being told she cleaned it up with her tongue.

  Then Burke was raising himself over her. He drew his dick out of her mouth.

  “I’m gonna fuck you now,” he murmured. “Open your legs.”

  Her knees pulled apart. She was wet and ready for him. Janie had heard once that men couldn’t go again after they’d ejaculated. With Burke, the man was a bottomless pit of desire. He was still hard. He still wanted her.

  He thrusted into her pussy easily, but only gave her the tip. He liked when Janie begged for the rest of it. He liked giving it to her slowly, an inch at a time, until she writhed and tilted her hips to try to get more. “I’m going to shoot my load inside you,” he told her. “Tonight. And then tomorrow morning. And every day until you’re filled up with me, and with my cum.”

  Janie found herself imagining, wildly, how it would feel to have Burke’s life-giving seed make a baby in her womb. She pictured being pregnant for him. How would it feel to have his child?

  Well, maybe soon she’d find out. Again and again he pummeled her moist love passage. His tool surged as it bottomed out against her. Janie’s cries of pleasure echoed through the hotel room, and his joined her. A fiery, consuming heat rose between them. He would have her like this, spread open like a butterfly beneath him, ready to receive the pleasure all the skill of his lovemaking could give her. He would be hers. He would be her stallion, fucking her with all the strength of his body, loving her with all his soul. This time she wouldn’t escape so easily. He meant to keep her there, to keep loving her.

  Burke fisted a hand in her hair. His hips pumped rhythmically. Janie moaned into his shoulder, incoherent, gripped by the beginning waves of a powerful orgasm. She felt somehow that Burke was losing control too. His eyes, so impenetrable, had stormed over in a kind of lustful wildness.

  “Burke,” she sighed. She tipped over; she was falling, falling into a pool of molten pleasure. She held onto his back with her nails for an anchor, and burst into bottomless cries of ecstasy. Burke came with a strangled roar, shooting loads of jism into her, over her stomach, her breasts. He came up to her mouth and she cleaned him off, then he was back inside her pussy again, fucking and fucking her. At last he withdrew and fell in a heap next to her. He gave a happy, wonderful laugh that she hadn’t heard in ages.

  “I love you,” Janie told him.

  “Love you too, honey,” he told her.

  They fell asleep, the sounds of New Orleans echoing distantly around them, and the sound of the other’s heartbeat crashing in their ears like waves in a storm-tossed sea.

  *

  “Read this,” Janie told Burke. She handed him the newspaper.

  Burke’s first reaction was always to say that he didn’t know how to read. Sometimes he’d rather avoid it altogether than to show how slow he was. Even the lowliest white man could read something. He ought to be better at it.

  When Janie had left he’d stubbornly kept at his lessons. At first he’d done it to feel a kind of connection to her. Then he’d done it out of stubbornness to himself. Even Jeremiah, God rest his soul, had helped, although the quiet man wasn’t so great himself and his spelling had been next to useless.

  Burke took the article from Janie and read it slowly, his finger pressing on each word. Then he wished he hadn’t.

  MURDER OF MARYLAND HEIRESS LEADS TO MANHUNT, screamed the headline.

  Authorities believe the murder of Maryland heiress Eve
lyn Bricassart by one Emmett Freeman of Philadelphia to be a crime of passion. At six o’ clock on Saturday, August 12th, Miss Bricassart was found strangled to death by her fiancee Francis Croup in their house in Rickshaw. Croup told authorities that he saw Emmett Freeman fleeing the scene. A female servant had witnessed the brutal act but declined to speak to authorities. Reactions to the murders sparked riots across Rickshaw, with the negro population rising up to defend Freeman’s innocence, and white vigilantes seeking justice for the vicious crime….

  “Bullshit,” Burke said, tossing the paper back to Janie. Of course they wouldn’t mention that the white mob, led by the KKK, had murdered five negroes and burned down the schoolhouse.